


the nine whiners of the apocalypse

by jehans



Series: it's for you [12]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:44:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joly is actually sick for once, all hell breaks loose, and Jehan and Courfeyrac wait for Something to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the nine whiners of the apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for vomit.

Admittedly, they really couldn’t have seen this one coming.

Joly  _always_  thought he was sick and it was  _always_  nothing and he  _always_  got over it within a day or two and thought he had something else. It never occurred to any of them that he might actually have the flu.

That is, until he threw up in the back of the coffee house.

It had been a pretty peaceful meeting up until then. It was almost winter break and therefore the end of finals week and everyone’s nerves were so frayed and on edge that even Enjolras hadn’t insisted on them getting any real work done. So they’d discussed how to maintain efforts while they were all scattered around the country during break, and then they’d dissolved into casually lounging around each other, just taking comfort it the company. Feuilly and Bahorel had coaxed Combeferre into a game of cards and were taking turns cheating so he wouldn’t win (because Combeferre  _always_  won and it was infuriating); Enjolras was reading for pleasure instead of for school, which he hadn’t done in weeks; Grantaire kept glancing up at Enjolras as he scribbled on a napkin, his feet up on the table; and Jehan and Courfeyrac were sitting cross-legged on the table near him, their heads bent together as they played some kind of elementary school clapping game. Joly was in Bossuet’s lap, looking a little green, but that was nothing unusual. And then he tipped forward and unleashed the contents of his stomach and all hell broke loose.

Feuilly, the closest of the card-players to Joly, leapt from his chair directly onto the table. Bahorel let out a feral yell and bolted for the door. Grantaire’s feet fell off of the table as he scrambled to his feet and back against the wall. Enjolras and Combeferre both looked up in surprise, and Courfeyrac flung himself over Jehan like some kind of human shield, shrieking something about a fire in the hole. Bossuet alone remained unmoving, calmly rubbing Joly’s back until he was done. Then he stood them both up, wrapping his arms tenderly around his actually-sick boyfriend and took them both out of the café, making all sorts of apologies as he went.

The rest of them were in a frenzy (save for Enjolras and Combeferre, who were already calmly taking measures to clean up the mess).

“Who has hand sanitizer?” Courfeyrac was yelling, still draped over Jehan, who was looking actually rather pleased at this positioning.

“It’s no use,” Combeferre replied over the scramble. “The flu virus doesn’t manifest until a few days after it’s caught; if he gave it to any of us, we already have it.”

They all looked around at each other rather like they thought they were all about to become zombies.

 

After that, they all scattered to the winds to wait out their fates. Enjolras went with Combeferre, and Courfeyrac went home with Jehan and Grantaire, while Feuilly and Bahorel both went out rather than home, perhaps to enjoy their health while it lasted.

“We’re all going to get it,” Courfeyrac is saying gravely, as though announcing their imminent deaths, his arms still tight around Jehan, who is in front of him and calmly attempting to play hangman with Grantaire, but is being slightly hindered by the fact he can’t lean forward enough to see the page. “We’re all going to be sick within hours,” Courfeyrac continues, “you mark my words.”

Grantaire glances up at him before drawing a sad face on the hanging man and announcing, “You lose,” to Jehan, who tries to pout, but can’t because Courfeyrac has started absently stroking up and down his arm and now he’s just grinning. As he does, Grantaire turns his full attention to Courfeyrac. “Will you stop?” he asks. It looks like he’s going to continue his protest, but his phone goes off and he reaches into his pocket to look.

“Who is it?” Jehan asks as Grantaire reads the text.

“Enjolras,” he replies shortly, almost reluctantly.

Jehan and Courfeyrac exchange a Look, unseen by a texting Grantaire.

Enjolras has been texting Grantaire a lot lately. Which would be really confusing, as they’d had their biggest knock down, drag out fight ever just a few weeks ago, except that Courfeyrac is really good at picking up on cues like this and Jehan is really good at people. They both know that  _something_  must have happened that neither Grantaire nor Enjolras are telling the rest of them, and they both know that Something can’t have happened.

Yet.

(And they’re both really rooting for it)

“What does he want?” Courfeyrac asks after Jehan kind of smirks knowingly and drops his gaze.

“He’s checking to make sure Jehan and I are well prepared for illness,” Grantaire says casually, looking up finally and placing his phone on the table. “Being a bit obnoxious, actually,” he adds loftily.

Jehan has to tuck his face into Courfeyrac’s arm to hide his grin. Courfeyrac very calmly kisses him on the head and smiles at Grantaire, pretending his boyfriend isn’t giggling into his arm.

Grantaire shoots a death glare at them both.

 

Feuilly shows up three hours later with news from Bossuet that Joly hasn’t stopped throwing up since the café. News which is greeted with loud groans from Grantaire and Courfeyrac while Jehan goes completely white.

No one notices this paling besides Feuilly because Grantaire has flopped to the ground in despair and Courfeyrac is still positioned behind Jehan (though now he’s sitting on the floor against the couch and Jehan is between his legs, leaning back into his chest). And there’s no one on this earth that doesn’t want to comfort Jehan when he looks like this, so Feuilly squats down in front of him and gives a little wry smile.

“Combeferre says this thing manifests in two ways,” he says gently. “You can either be like Joly and get it in a gastrointestinal way, or you can get is as a respiratory thing, which is better I think.”

Jehan nods a little and Courfeyrac notices now that he’s scared, so he tightens his arms around him and presses a little kiss into his hair.

Feuilly, his work done, spins around and falls into the couch (everyone else is sitting on the floor for some reason, so he takes up the whole thing), then notices that Grantaire is tapping away at his phone, texting someone.

“One of the guys?” he asks, nudging Grantaire with his foot.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah,” Grantaire answers absently.

Courfeyrac smirks. “Enjolras?” he asks slyly and Feuilly shoots him a questioning look he doesn’t respond to.

For his part, Grantaire won’t even look at him. He adopts a coolly disinterested expression and replies, “Apparently Combeferre has fallen. Enjolras is staying with him.”

“That means my place is empty,” Courfeyrac says softly to Jehan, nudging him a little. “You want to go over there?”

Jehan makes a face. “I like my bed,” he says simply and Courfeyrac nods and kisses his head again.

Grantaire casts a glance over to them. “Are you staying for the duration, then?” he asks Courfeyrac.

“Yeah, if that’s okay,” Courfeyrac answers as Jehan sort of turns and snuggles into him.

“Oh yeah, no it’s fine,” Grantaire says quickly, but there’s a sort of reluctance to his voice. Jehan peeks at him over Courfeyrac’s arm.

“We’ll take care of you, too,” he says, cutting through to the real problem here: Jehan and Courfeyrac have each other, and Grantaire feels alone.

Grantaire blesses him with a half smile. “I’ll be fine,” he says dryly, but Jehan can see the slight change in his facial expression — what he said meant something.

“All right,” Courfeyrac says, reluctantly dislogding Jehan a little so he can start to stand up. “If there are going to be three. . .four? Feuilly, are you staying?”

“Nope, I’m going home. Bahorel is  _hilarious_  when he’s sick.”

“Three, then,” Courfeyrac settles. “If there are going to be three people in this apartment spewing bodily fluids, I think I should make sure we have enough buckets to go around.”

He finally gets himself untangled from Jehan and stands and Feuilly nearly flips off the couch.

“Christ almighty, Courfeyrac!” he cries, his eyes going huge.

Jehan twists around to see what he’s shouting about and then his eyes shoot from Feuilly to Courfeyrac and back. “Feuilly, are you staring at my boyfriend’s crotch?!” he demands.

Feuilly makes a screeching noise and covers his eyes. Courfeyrac looks rather proud of himself. Jehan glares up at him.

“Not like that!” Feuilly cries, his eyes still covered, as Grantaire howls with laughter. “He’s wearing  _really_  tight pants!”

“Hey, Jehan really likes these pants,” Courfeyrac argues and now Jehan is covering  _his_  face. “I mean I can take them off if you want —”

“I’M LEAVING!” Feuilly screams, jumping up from the couch, at the same moment Jehan swings forward to push Courfeyrac’s legs towards the kitchen, yelling, “GO OVER THERE!”

Grantaire can’t breathe he’s laughing so hard.

 

Four hours and twelve minutes later, Courfeyrac is no longer wearing his tight pants because he changed into pajamas right before he started vomiting. Now he’s hunched miserably on the floor of the bathroom over the toilet, with Jehan cuddling against his back and stroking him comfortingly even though the smell of vomit always makes Jehan naseous, too. Courfeyrac feels a few small kisses placed sweetly on his shoulder right before he shudders and heaves again.

Jehan is murmuring in his ear now, little words of love and comfort and  _this too shall pass_.

Grantaire’s locked himself in his room and won’t come out. It’s only a matter of time now before he and Jehan get it, too.

 

And they do. Grantaire gets the respiratory thing and loses both his voice and his will to live within about two hours, ending up curled up on the couch all night with a quilt, an entire gallon of ice cream and Jehan’s whole Netflix queue in front of him, with every intention of completely screwing up Jehan’s “Reccomended For You” list. He may or may not also have his cell phone (which periodically goes off throughout the night) on the table in front of him.

Jehan gets it the same way Courfeyrac and Joly did, and his puking fit doesn’t wind down until almost 3am, when Courfeyrac half-carries him back into his bedroom (taking care to make sure there are buckets on both sides of the bed for them and plenty of water nearby), and then gently draws him into bed to hold him.

“I hate this,” Jehan croaks, burying his face miserably in Courfeyrac’s chest. “I’m never doubting Joly ever again.”

“I’m expelling Joly from the group,” Courfeyrac said in a low voice. “He did this to us, he will be punished.”

Jehan sighs and slips his arms further around Courfeyrac, careful not to squeeze him too tightly. “Thank you for being here,” he sighs. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

A kiss is pressed into his hair. “Are you kidding?” Courf says lightly, though his voice is a bit raw. “I’m lucky to have  _you._ ”

 

It’s about five days before they all emerge, blinking, into the sunlight. They stumble automatically into the café, muttering survivor stories, and plant themselves at their usual tables.

Everyone looks a bit pale, a bit green. Joly is half hiding behind Bossuet, which is understandable as Courfeyrac and Bahorel both look like they might try to murder him later and make it look like an accident. At some point, Bahorel mumbles something which sounds like, “Aw, fuck it,” and extracts a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his pockets.

But he’s not  _supposed_  to smoke in here and Grantaire and Feuilly and Enjolras still have the last bit of laryngitis and Jehan is allergic to cigarette smoke, so there’s a frenzied dash to stop him and somewhere in the kerfuffle, Bahorel’s lighter falls, lit, into the drapes.

And that’s how they end up evacuated to across the street while the firefighters put out the small fire in the back room, all wondering how and if they could have seen this coming.

Wordlessly, they all seem to decide that no, they couldn’t have, and when Combeferre turns to head for home, everyone else just follows him.

But the fire was small, and the café will be open tomorrow (although they’ve all been banned for a week), and somewhere in the mayhem of trying to get out of a burning building, Jehan had watched Enjolras frantically grabbing Grantaire by the arm and physically pulling him outside, and something about that makes him happy.

Courfeyrac, who’s holding tightly to his hand, is looking at him with a kind of question in his eyes and Jehan just smiles, then tips up onto his tiptoes to whisper in Courfeyrac’s ear. As he explains, a smile creeps across Courfeyrac’s face. He glances over toward Enjolras, who is very pointedly on the other side of the group from Grantaire, and then at Grantaire, who’s looking rather unusually smug.

“Well, well, well,” he whispers to Jehan, who grins and bites his lip. “We may have Something happening in our not too distant future after all.”


End file.
